


American Ream  Episode One: Frankie Fingers

by RoryOmore



Series: American Ream [1]
Category: The Middle
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, Hand Jobs, POV Female Character, Public Sex, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 18:09:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9135538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoryOmore/pseuds/RoryOmore
Summary: Frankie finds herself in a very bad situation and has to draw on old, nearly forgotten talents to get herself out.





	

Authors Note:  
American Ream is intended to be an episodic telling of the misadventures of Frankie Heck, a middle aged single mother trying to survive in a brutal economy. The episodes will stand alone although they will move the narrative forward a bit, more or less like a TV season.

 

There will be sex, but there will also be story, some of it even a bit funny, I hope. 

 

You don’t have to be familiar with the American TV series “The Middle” to follow the story.

 

 

AMERICAN REAM

Ream as in: to enlarge a hole by use of a reamer, to extract the juice from; beat, bilk, bugger, diddle, gyp, impale, penetrate, screw, sodomize, cheat. Ya, it means all those things; (I looked that up on the internet at the library). And ya, pretty much all of those things happened to me over the next year of my life.

 

Episode 1: Frankie Fingers

 

Out here in the middle very strange things can happen to you right out of the clear blue morning sky……..

 

MY WORST NIGHTMARE

 

So there I was, lost, all alone, drenched in sweat, wearing a ridiculous home-made Super Woman costume that was stuck to me like a second skin, well, stuck to my spanx like a third skin I guess you’d say; no phone service, not a car in sight, dying of hunger and thirst; and this is like ten-thirty in the morning. It was that kind of a day, believe me. 

 

Anyway, I hadn’t had a thing to eat all day, nothing, it’s important that you understand that. Then I saw this Little Betty Twinkie laying on the road, crushed, but still in the wrapper. I looked around; I was surrounded by miles of empty farm fields, so of course I didn’t see anybody. So God help, me I dropped to my knees on the hot, dusty, pavement, ripped open the package and started shoveling it into my mouth. It was pretty humiliating, but if you knew me, you wouldn’t find it too surprising. 

 

Anyways, there I was on my knees, cream filling splattered around my mouth like cum, and I heard the noise, a deep, angry rumble, and before I can even mumble the word “bikers” they were already around the bend and bearing right down on me fast.

 

I froze; I’m sure this is every woman’s secret nightmare; to get kidnapped by a by a bunch of hairy, nasty bikers and get gang banged half to death. I certainly had thought about it a lot… worried about it, I mean. 

 

I couldn’t move, my heart was thumping in my chest and I couldn’t breathe. They spotted me of course, with my crazy bright red leotard and stupid yellow rubber boots, and they quickly started to form a circle around me. I wiped some of the Twinkie off of my mouth and managed to stand on my wobbly legs hoping I could make a run for it, but by then they had me completely surrounded, their bikes were shutting down and some of them were even getting off. There must have been twenty of them, the air was full of the smell of gasoline, leather and manly sweat. I’m usually pretty plucky, but when I saw all the beards, and tattoos, and heavy boots all around me, I just kinda moaned and sank to my knees. There was no possibility of a fight; I’m five foot two, and light, not to mention forty-one years old and out of shape. I couldn’t run, and there was nooooo hope that anyone would happen along to save me; all I could do was play the pathetic card and hope they would have pity on me – not much of a plan. 

 

Crouching down in a cowardly submissive pose I found that the smell of my own sweat was pretty fierce too, maybe that would turn them off, I thought. Ya, I had a lot to learn about bikers. The engines were all stopped, and it became so quiet I could hear the crunch of the boots of the guy approaching me. I lifted my head up to look at him, my lips trembling, eyes swimming in tears, and saw him looming over me, just a big tower of jeans and leather, beard, and a rough, merciless face hidden behind aviator glasses.

 

It just occurred to me that maybe you might have some questions about how an ordinary, middle aged, middle-class (at least I used to think I was) mother got herself into such a crazy and dangerous situation. Let me back up a bit………

 

 

My name is Frankie Heck. I’m a forty-one year old, recently divorced (after sixteen god dammed years of marriage) mother of three, living in Orson Indiana. If you can call it living; the “correction” of 2008 put the boots to my lifestyle, my marriage, and my whole faith in the American Dream. 

 

Dream, ha! American Ream is more like it. Ream as in: to enlarge a hole by use of a reamer, to extract the juice from; beat, bilk, bugger, diddle, gyp, impale, penetrate, screw, sodomize, cheat. Ya, it means all those things; (I looked that up on the internet at the library). And ya, pretty much all of them happened to me over the next year of my life.

 

I had played by the rules all my life, went to school, raised my kids, paid my taxes, obeyed the law, gave to charity, everything I was supposed to do to achieve the American Dream; well instead I got the American Ream so hard I can hardly walk straight any more. I won’t bother you with the details of my financial woes, but you can trust me on this, I’m flat busted broke. My shitty house is underwater, all of my credit cards, store cards and debits cards have been cut up, I probably couldn’t even borrow a nickel from a loan shark right about now. 

 

Everybody was always saying to me, “Hey Frankie, so much shit happens to you, you should write a book,” ya, people kept saying that to me so I decided to give it a try. What people don’t know, or weren’t telling me, was that writing is hard work! Now, I’m not really a hard-work kind of person; sure I can go in spurts when I have to, but I’m not cut out for anything that takes commitment and dedication, you know - like writing a book.

 

So why am I writing this now? First of all, 2009 was a bat shit crazy year. There was weird shit, and funny shit, and dirty shit…. I don’t mean dirty like, well shit dirty… okay maybe I shouldn’t use that word. There was so much obscene, outrageous, should-never-happen-to-a-middle-aged-mother in Middle America stuff that happened to me that I almost feel… obliged to write it down. It’s like, if this can happen to me, Frankie Heck, in the heartland of America, then maybe it says something about America, or maybe it just says something about me; you decide. And the second reason is that I am so broke that I’m even willing to try something hard if it might make a buck. Of course I won’t write it all at once, just one freaky thing or another kinda strung together with longer running stuff…well you know what I mean.

 

To sum up; I’m broke, desperate, weird shit happens to me all the time, and I’m gonna tell you about it if you want to bother to read on. Thank You.

 

After those idiots in Washington let those fat cats on Wall Street nuke the economy, man, there was no work at all out there for a newly single mother trying to raise two of her three kids (the other one went with his dad, but that’s another story), not even minimum wage, shit jobs, nothing; so I figured I was lucky when I landed a job as a car salesperson at Orson’s only car lot, Ellert’s Motors. Well think again Frankie; without commission the job paid less than minimum wage, and had no benefits of any kind. It’s not too bad if you can sell a car, but that was something I hadn’t been able to do in the three month’s that I’d been there, which was why I was in the owner’s office getting reamed out (verbally) on the day that my life really started to come apart.

 

Old man Ellert chewed out my ass, telling me in no uncertain terms that he was going to fire me if I didn’t sell a car by the end of the month. Like I needed any more pressure than I already had; I was just a couple bad breaks from having my kids taken by child services and landing my own sorry ass in some overcrowded women’s shelter. 

 

Now, I’m what people call “plucky”, but I was feeling close to despair when suddenly there was a ray of hope; I’m not sure if that’s a message to “never give up,” or just a demonstration that the universe likes to fuck with me. Anyway, when I came out of the old man’s office and was striding, tight faced towards the lot, I heard a man call out my name. It stopped me in my tracks because the voice actually sounded happy, not angry or disappointed or whiney. 

 

“Hey Frankie, I heard you were working here; long time no see,” he said. I didn’t say he sounded original, just happy.

 

I turned around and there was Stevie Elhert, Mr Elhert’s only son, and an old high school classmate of mine. He was looking pretty good for his age, he was only a year younger than me, but he still had all of his light brown hair, and his slightly weathered face was helped out by a deep, healthy looking tan. He was casually but, at least to my eyes, expensively dressed with some kind of tan, soft material pants and an open-necked dress shirt. His blue eyes were bright, and his straight teeth were brilliantly white as he walked up to me.

 

I was going to put out my hand, but he enfolded me in a hug which took me completely by surprise; “It’s good to see you Frankie,” he said sincerely. He squeezed me and stepped back to look at me from arm’s length.

 

“Hey Stevie,” I said blushing a little, it had been ages since anyone had said a nice word to me. 

 

STEVIE

Stevie hadn’t been so good looking in high school, in fact he’d been awkward and a little twitchy on account of his loud mouthed father. A lot of kids made fun of him, but I was always nice to him, not Frankie Fingers nice, (were gonna get to that, don’t worry) but friendly and polite. He had gone off to University in Chicago and then we heard that he’d had a falling out with his dad and had gone to Arizona or Mexico or something to start his own business. We also heard that he was married, but I didn’t see any ring on his finger, and no tan lines there either. Sure I looked right away, you better believe I’m exploring every option these days, no matter how much of a long shot they might be. 

 

“Wow, I didn’t know you were back in town,” I said.

 

“Just been back a couple of days,” he replied, and then shook his head in what appeared real admiration; “You’re looking good Frankie; you’ve really kept in shape,” he said.

 

“Oh pleeeeese,” I replied dismissively. 

 

Because this had started out to be just another day, of course I had rushed out the door in a mess, with my hair barely presentable and no makeup on. Probably what was grabbing his attention was my clothes. I’m still in pretty good shape, but I’ve been putting on weight lately, especially since Mike left, fortunately it’s going mostly to my boobs and hips, and not so much to my stomach or face. 

 

The thing is, because I’m so broke I haven’t bought any new clothes in almost a year, so the ones I do wear are hugging me pretty tight. I mean, I’ve gone up a full bra size to 38C, but I haven’t been able to buy any new bras, so I’m kinda spilling out everywhere; it’s uncomfortable, but men kinda like that sort of thing. I was wearing a purple blouse with the top three buttons undone, not because I was trying to impress anybody, but because I couldn’t get them done up; I had put a purple sweater on over top of the blouse and buttoned it higher, but the top button on that kept popping open too, and the next one down was so tight that there was a gaping pull right at mid-breast. I had on a tan skirt that was supposed to be just above the knee, but because it was pulled so tightly across my hips it rode up a couple of inches higher; I had on nude pantyhose that didn’t have any runs, at least not below mid-thigh.

 

“Come on, talk to me for a sec,’ he said nodding his head towards the coffee area and taking me gently by the upper arm. I felt an immediate flush; it feels nice to be complimented, even if the reason is that your clothes didn’t fit. I looked over my shoulder and saw Mr Elhert standing in the doorway of his office scowling at us, and although that was a little unnerving, it also gave me a kind of thrill as well.

 

I looked up at Stevie as we walked, he’s about five-eight, and asked sweetly; “Are you going to be in town long, Stevie?”

 

A couple of the salesmen, they’re all men except me, were standing by the coffee machine; they smiled at Stevie like brown-nosers, but he must have given them a look or something, because they quickly moved away. 

 

“Ya, I could be, could be,” he replied while he poured us each a cup coffee. “I’ve got some time right now and I’m going to give dad a bit of a hand around here, he won’t admit it, but he needs it.” He didn’t touch the donuts; I really wanted one, but restrained myself. “I heard you and Mike split up, is that true?” he asked.

 

“Ya sure, what can I say; the economy you know……..” I replied with a little causal laugh that I didn’t really pull off; it wasn’t actually an explanation either, but he didn’t seem to notice.

 

“That’s too bad,” he replied as he handed me a coffee; “but I was real glad to hear that you were working here, dad should’ve gotten a woman on the team ages ago, and you should be great at it.”

 

“Well, I’m having a hell of a time getting started,” I replied ruefully; he obviously knew the score on that, I’m sure he’d heard me getting chewed out just like everyone else in the dealership.

 

We were standing side by side, just touching slightly shoulder to shoulder; “about that…. I think I could give you some advice,” he said conspiratorially. “I’ve been pretty successful in sales these last few years.”

 

“I’d love some advice,” I replied enthusiastically, laying it on a little thick. I pressed a bit more tightly against his arm as I turned to look up at him.

 

“The number one rule in sales Frankie; sex sells. Sex sells without fail.” 

 

I must have looked a little confused.

 

“You’re not using your strongest asset; come on Frankie, you’ve got all the right equipment, you just need to put it out there,” he said in a low, encouraging voice.

 

“Me?”

 

“Of course you.”

 

“What, you want me to put on a bikini and lay on top of a car?” I asked and broke into giggles at the thought.

 

He smiled at me and nodded his head; “People would pay to see that. I’d pay to see that, but that’s not what I mean. You know, you’re a sexy woman, so do your make up that way, and you know, wear your clothes that way. Turn it on, the way you dress, the way you talk, body language, all that.”

 

Now I was confused; I hadn’t thought of myself like that for a long time. Mike wasn’t the kind of guy to give a compliment or make a gesture, you know, so our love life had never been what you would call torrid. In the last few years the only thing we did in the sack was sleep. I had long ago fallen into a frumpy, housewife-mother thing which was normal in Orson; I hadn’t even heard about that whole Milf thing that was going on. 

 

Of course I knew that sex sells, it just never occurred to me that I had any to sell. “Well sure ………” I replied to his smiling face; “all women know how to do that, I just didn’t think it was appropriate for Orson, you know, it’s such a family place.”

 

He gave me a bit of a friendly bump against the hip that took me completely by surprise so I had to grab his arm to keep from falling over; he had pretty good guns. “Sex sells even in Orson,” he laughed.

 

“I can see where you’re going………” I nodded; I was thinking that it sounded like work, but maybe the payoff would be worth it.

 

“You want to sell cars don’t you?” he asked. 

 

“Of course, yes I’d really like to sell cars. Hell, I’d really like to sell just one car before your dad fires me.”

 

“So turn up the heat a little,” he replied shrugging his shoulders and spreading his hands in what I would call a Jewish manner, brushing my boob as he did it. I don’t mean the brushing the boob part is Jewish, I meant the way he spread his arms, you know, like he was making an obvious statement; I didn’t know if the boob brush was on purpose or not. And for the record, I have never had my boob brushed by a Jew as far as I know. But we’re getting off track here…

 

“It’s no crime, it’s nothing against women, it’s just a fact of life, so hey, why shouldn’t you, with your dynamite body, cash in like everyone else.”

 

Now I was really blushing; “dynamite body?” no one had said that about me since high school. I was beginning to think Stevie was living in a bit of a time warp, but if that was going to work in my favor, well that was just fine by me. 

 

“Maybe you have something,” I replied with a bit of a choke in my voice. We were pressed pretty tight together now, hip to hip; I wanted to push up against him even more, but I could see all the salesmen looking over at us with daggers in their eyes.

 

He gave me a break by moving around so he could look me in the face, no longer touching. “I’m gonna sell my dad on a great idea,” he said in an eager voice. “Get everyone in costume for a Halloween week sale event, do some other promotional stuff; it’ll be fun. We used to do it down in Phoenix and it was a big seller, and you know why?” He didn’t give me a chance to answer; “Because it gave our sales ladies a chance to get away with looking very hot, all in the name of fun.”

 

“Ahhh ya,” I replied trying to sound enthusiastic; again it sounded like work, and I didn’t have the money to buy the kind of costume that made you look good.

 

It was like he was reading my mind because he said; “I have some costumes that would look great on you Frankie.”

 

“You have ladies costumes?” I asked, maybe a little too quickly; hey if the guy was into costumes it was none of my business.

 

He grabbed me by the shoulder; “Hundreds of them Frankie, thousands!” and he laughed when he saw the look on my face. “You didn’t know? I’ve got thirty costume stores in Southern California and across the Southwest; quality shops, top of the line; they make almost as much as my dealerships, and there a hell of a lot more fun.”

 

I laughed with him, noticing that he still had a grip on my shoulder; “Costumes, who knew?” I said, and that made him laugh harder. Okay, I thought, he likes costumes, I can live with that, but more to the point I was sure that I’d heard him say “dealerships”, ya with an s. It sounded like goofy little Stevie had done a whole lot better than his sourpuss dad.

 

It couldn’t hurt to have a friend like that, so I repeated myself with more enthusiasm; “Costumes, yaaaa, sounds like a great idea; we could use some fun around her.”

 

“And sex,” he added in a low voice moving in close to me with a pretty funny looking leer.

 

“That too,” I replied and gave him a big, playful wink. I was flirting! Me, after all these years. I was getting flushed and a bit excited, I hadn’t had this kind of fun in ages, and if he wanted to keep it up I was sure willing to go along.

 

“I should bring some costumes over to your house some time and let you make a pick …..”

 

Before I could say anything the Old Man intervened. “Stevie! Stevie, come and give me a hand with these invoices will you,” he shouted from his office doorway; “Frankie needs to get back to work; this isn’t a dance hall for God’s sake.”

 

Stevie waved at him casually and then said to me with a grin; “got to humor the old man;” he lowered his voice; “we don’t know how much longer he has to live,” he kept smiling and put a finger to his lips. 

“We’ll talk Frankie, good to see you again,” he said out loud as he turned and sauntered off towards his glowering dad.

 

“You bet Stevie,” I called after him, and then under the eyes of all the salesmen I stuck my nose in the air, yanked my clothes into shape and strode out onto the lot with a big grin on my face.

 

Hang on; I’m getting to the biker part.

 

Once I knew I was out of sight of the boss, I hooked up with Chris, the other outcast at Elhert’s motors and my only friend there. He promised to cover for me, which he did a lot, while I dashed to Brik’s school. 

 

It was like the universe was trying to tell me something, all this stuff about costumes on the very day that I had to dress up for Brik’s class. Once I got to the school, I grabbed my bundle and hurried down to the old change room in the basement where I changed into my homemade costume. I had thrown it together only that morning, after Brik sprung it on me that he needed me in a Super Woman costume, in his class at nine-thirty that very morning. Brik is a bit on the special side, and he does shit like that all the time. 

 

I’m not very good at sticking with things, like I’ve said, but I am pretty damned good at winging it, and all things considered I felt pretty good about myself when I walked into his classroom only to be told that I wasn’t needed until next week. Thanks Brik.

 

As I dragged my ass back down to the change room, Chris called and told me that this customer that I’d been working on for over a week had shown up looking for me, and now the vultures were circling. I had no choice but to dash back there immediately costume and all.

 

I got some strange looks, especially from Stevie, but there was no time to explain as I snagged the woman and got her into the yellow ragtop she’d been looking at. Fortunately she was cool; she was a mom with three boys, so she knew what my life was like and had no problem cutting me some slack. She was going through some kind of mid-life crisis herself and felt like cutting loose and doing something crazy; specifically buying this sweet little sports car which incidentally would bring me a very nice commission and get the old man off my back for a few weeks.

 

I sold it hard, I was so desperate I was almost hysterical, and after she calmed me down she said she wanted to take it for a test drive to help her make up her mind. She was almost there, she said, but not quite.

 

I’m an optimist, if I wasn’t I wouldn’t still be standing, so when she said she wanted a test drive I could already hear the cash register ringing, and could picture myself getting all kinds of luxuries like pantyhose without runs, and food that didn’t come from Ethiopia.

 

As soon as we got out of town, and that doesn’t take long in Orson, she really opened that little sucker up. We were both having a great time, kind of an older version of Thelma and Louise (actually I had never watched that movie to the end, I probably should have). She was tearing up the country roads and we were very quickly in the middle of nowhere, and around Orson it’s hard to tell which middle of nowhere you’re in because they all look pretty much the same. The top was down, the sun was hot, and soon I was standing up and dancing to the music on the expensive stereo system.

 

All of a sudden she pulled over saying she thought she’d hit something. I didn’t think so, but she insisted that I get out and take a look which I did, reluctantly. As soon as I had moved around to the rear of the car she floored it and was gone. She shouted something about getting her kids out of prison and then I was all alone, which pretty much brings us back to where I started.

 

Now things started to get really interesting, and in case you didn’t guess, pretty dirty too, by which I mean sexual. 

 

ROCKIN ROBBIE

 

Okay, so I was looking up at the scary biker guy.

 

I looked up at him with a hangdog expression; “Please, don’t hurt me,” I said. His reply was probably the last thing in the world I expected to hear.

 

“Frankie, Frankie Fingers, is that you?” he asked.

 

I hadn’t heard that name since high school, and even then it was said mostly behind my back. 

 

Let me explain. I was always a……. friendly girl, you know, wanted to get along, keep people happy, especially the boys. I never put much effort into things. I didn’t get great grades, didn’t do well in sports, was the least enthusiastic cheer leader, never went out for show dance or anything like that, but of course, like every teenager, I still wanted to be popular.

 

Just at the end of middle school I had discovered that you could do a lot with your hands that would make boys happy; it didn’t take a lot of work, especially if you flashed some boob and used a few well-chosen words at the same time. What can I say, we’re talking less than five minutes work here and then you got a big payoff in the way they treated you. Soooo in the first couple of years in high school I kinda did it a lot, and to quite a few different boys. I was good at it, really good, and before long everybody was calling me Frankie Fingers. 

 

Maybe I used a bit of tongue now and again to get things started, or maybe to kick someone over the edge, but these weren’t blowjobs, I assure you. I had seen firsthand the massive amount of cum that spurted out of those boys, often without any warning, and I wasn’t about to get my face in way of all… that. I didn’t want to go down that road so to speak. That would have made me a cocksucker, and that was a line I didn’t want to cross. Frankie Fingers was okay, Frankie Fuck Face would have been demeaning. At first I was kind of proud of my nickname, but when I started going steady with Mike, I stopped doing it, except to him, and he did his best to get people to stop calling me that.

 

So back to the lonely road. I was stunned; totally confused, speechless, as this guy crouched down close beside me and took off his sunglasses; “It is you!” he exclaimed his face lighting up. “Frankie, it’s me, Rockin Robbie, from Orson High!”

 

I straightened up a little, cuffed the tears out of my eyes and peered at him; “Robbie Rotaski?” I said. 

 

I recognized him now, it’s amazing how you can still see the teenager in a face even after all the years of wear and tear. He had been pretty well known around school, a couple of years behind me, but he’d been a real character, an unapologetic throwback rocker during the age of punk. We never hung out or anything, but he was one of the people I’d say “hi” to in the hall. Like I said, I was a friendly girl. Not… that kind of friendly with him, but you know, I wasn’t stuck up, even though I was a cheer leader. I didn’t look down my nose at the kids in the lower classes the way some girls did; hell I’d done my sophomore year twice, so who was I to be on a high horse. 

 

My trembling lips formed into a smile, maybe I was getting a break; “Hey, Rockin Robbie Rotaski, sure I remember you,” I replied. It was like fucking home coming week in Orson.

 

He helped me to my feet and took a step back so he could get a good look at me; he shook his head; “Man, Frankie, there has got to be a good story behind this,” he was having a belly laugh now; “Man, crazy shit was always happenin to you, I guess that hasn’t changed.”

 

I started telling my story, babbling even worse than usual, and the other bikers all gathered around to hear what I was saying. They were all smiling; they looked friendly, but I could also see them checking me out. It was embarrassing; the costume was never meant to be sexy, but the cheap material, soaked with my sweat, was molding tightly to my spanx-enhanced curves, and it was pretty much see-through now. I could feel the tightness of my nipples and I knew they must be poking out a mile. Without bragging I can say that I’ve got a decent body for my age (especially around Orson); I’ve always had a nice rack, and my stomach is mostly flat, and my can is shapely without being too large, but I hadn’t thought of myself as… sexy in a long time. Come on, I’d been married for sixteen years and had three kids. I had put all… that on the shelf some time ago and more or less forgotten about it; now I was remembering. I caught myself licking the cream off of my lips, and quickly put my naughty tongue back into my mouth.

 

Robbie put a hand on my shoulder; “Okay Frankie, okay,” he laughed; “I get the gist of it. If you want to come with me, I’ve got a place not far from here where you can make a phone call, or maybe one of the girls will give you a ride back to town.”

 

What could I say? I smiled, wiped the rest of the cream from my chin, shrugged my shoulders, and found myself climbing up onto the back of his Harley. Maybe he was going to take me and chain me up in a basement somewhere, maybe I would have to fuck him, maybe I was gonna have to fuck the whole lot of them; but it was a chance I was willing to take to get off of that hot dusty road. It’s not like they were threatening me or anything, and anyways, that stuff only happened in the movies, right?

 

####

 

“So, am I going to get gangbanged?” I asked the woman behind the bar. I couldn’t tell you what her age was, she was as lean as a teenager except for big fake boobs, but from the roots of her dyed blonde hair and the wrinkles on her face and neck (the part that wasn’t tattooed) I would have said she was almost my age. Her eyes looked like she was probably over a hundred. 

 

But there was a real person there (turned out her name was Donna), because she gave me a real sympathetic look when she replied; “Is that what you expect? I don’t know, we haven’t had one for almost a week now and the boys are getting pretty restless. So, look, if it happens try to steer clear of the pool room, it can get really nasty in there.”

 

I gulped.

 

“You know with the cues and all……”

 

“Ya, I get it,” I replied and shifted my sweaty butt around on the bar stool.

 

“You want that drink now?” she asked.

 

“Double,” I replied looking over my shoulder and making a weak smile at the mountain of a guy that was watching me from one stool away. He must have weighed three hundred pounds; his beard went half way down his chest, and his meaty arms just kind of hung by his sides. He didn’t talk; Robbie had told him to watch me, I assumed to keep me from running away, but it might have been to protect me from the other bikers who kept coming by and checking me out. They would look at my outfit and grin and say things like “far out” “allllriight” and “oh ya, this is gonna be fun,” which you see kinda lead to my question. He smiled back at me with a mostly toothless mouth, he didn’t speak, he didn’t do anything else; Robbie told him to watch me, and that was what he was doing, leading me to suspect there wasn’t a lot going on behind his slightly crossed eyes.

 

Robbie had said they would make a call for me, but when we got here there was no landline and nobody had any better phone reception than I did. So zilch. The yellow ragtop was in their farmyard along with a couple of other cars, about thirty bikes, four or five pickups, and two or three stake trucks.

 

“Hey, that’s my car, I mean that’s my bosses car, that’s the one I was telling you about” I had said when we got off of his bike in front of the farmhouse. 

 

“Ya that’s what I figured,” he replied leading me up the porch stairs.

 

“I got to have it back Robbie or I’m toast,” I pleaded.

 

“We’ll talk about it,” he said in a reasonable tone as he led me through the door. There had been a lot of activity in the yard; definitely a lot of people were packing things up, loading them onto trucks, getting ready to go somewhere. That gave me a bit of hope; maybe they wouldn’t have time to “do” me even if they wanted to. Robbie had left me at the bar with the big guy, Teddy was his name, and said he would come and talk to me as soon as he dealt with some shit.

 

Of course, no one had said anything about “doing” anybody, that all came out of my own head, or at least out of a hundred movie and TV shows that I’d watched over the years.

 

“Maybe they won’t have time,” I suggested to the Donna with a hopeful smile as I sipped on the Jack Daniels she had given me.

 

She kind of scrunched up her face, still sympathetic; “Never been gangbanged before?” she asked like “Oh, you never had your tonsils out,” kind of thing.

 

“No, I’m from Orson,” I replied a little sheepishly; “we don’t get out much.”

 

“It ain’t so bad sweetie,” she said with a southern/western kind of drawl; “half these old guys can’t get it up even with Viagra there so drunk or stoned, and the other half cums pretty quick. They all kinda close in on ya, press up against ya, feel you up, pour beer on you and shit. It’s really more of a gang… maul than a gang… bang,” she explained kindly. 

 

“Oh,” I replied with a little laugh, “I’m almost disappointed,” and took a bigger sip of Jack. I was pretty proud of myself, I was holding up pretty good for a middle aged mother from Orson who had a head full of Hollywood rape fantasies. In fact I was starting to worry more about what would happen if I returned empty-handed to the dealership, than what might happen before then. “Just stay out of the pool room,” I reminded myself.

 

‘Ya, it’s not so bad,” she went on, drinking from a long neck bottle of beer; “except for the smell, there’s always a few bastards want to kiss all the time, damn. Ya, you never get used to the smell.”

 

“Shit,” I said and downed the rest of my drink.

 

I almost jumped out of my spanx when Robbie came up behind me and slapped me on the shoulder; “Alright Frankie, we can’t make a call from here, so Donna is gonna take you home,” he said cheerfully.

 

“Really, just like that…no, uh…stuff in the pool room?” I asked, still afraid of what the answer might be.

 

They all busted out laughing. “Come on Frankie, what kind of people you think we are? We’ve just been yankin’ your chain.” 

 

Donna had tears coming out of her eyes from laughing so hard. “God, Robbie you shoulda seen her face when I told her about the pool room,” she managed to choke out. Even Teddy was making a kind of heaving guffaw sound, as I looked from face to face. I knew I must be as red as my silly costume as I noticed that most of the gang had come quietly into the room, standing back a little, and now everyone having a good laugh at my expense.

 

“Some of the boys were worried that you might say somethin about our activities, but I convinced them that you wouldn’t rat us out. You wouldn’t rat us out, would you Frankie?” he asked.

 

“Of course not, Robbie, I promise, I won’t say a word,” I replied sincerely, looking around at everybody, shaking my head vigorously. 

 

“That’s what I figured,” he said to me, and then to Donna; “Take the Blazer.” She nodded and started to gather up things and stuff them into her large leather purse.”

 

I took a deep breath, stood up on my shaky legs and gave him a hug. Maybe I should have left it there, but somehow I just couldn’t cut my losses and run. “Uh, and what about my car, you know the one from the dealership?”

 

The place went silent. “You want the car back?” he asked.

 

“Well kinda.”

 

“The car that you wouldn’t even have seen if we hadn’t helped you out when you were stranded in the middle of nowhere?”

 

I scrunched up my face apologetically; “If it’s not too much trouble,” I said.

 

He heaved a big sigh and gave me a disappointed look. Donna put her purse down, leaned up against the bar and lit up a smoke. 

 

“It’s a good think for you we’re old friends,” he said. He shook his head wearily. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do,” and turned and walked heavily back towards the pool room where everyone else seemed to be headed.

 

“Where’s everybody going?” I asked.

 

“Council; better have a seat, this might take a while,” he replied over his shoulder without looking back.

 

I didn’t know if that was good or bad for me, but figured it was probably bad.

 

 

THE CHALLENGE

 

Robbie was gone a long time; Teddy stayed on the stool beside me, acting as a protector, not a guard, I now realized. Donna stubbed out her second cigarette; “We can leave any time Frankie, just say the word,” she said.

 

“I think I’d just like to wait and see,” I replied.

 

“Your dime,” she replied with a shrug, “but I don’t think they’re gonna let you have the car back, not after Jane went to all the trouble of stealin it.”

 

“Ya well, you know….”

 

“You want something to eat?”

 

She microwaved me a couple of slices of pizza which helped to settle my flopping stomach, and poured me another Jack to steady my nerves. Teddy sat and watched me eat. When I finished I held out my glass for a refill, I was starting to get a bit tipsy. “So…now am I going to get gang banged?” I asked.

 

She chuckled; “I’m beginin to think you ain’t gonna be happy until you do,” she replied.

 

“No, no, it’s just that I kinda need to get back to work,” I said.

 

That made her hoot, she smacked the bar so hard with the palm of her hand that it made me jump, and she thought that was just hilarious too; even Teddy gave out a kind of snorting sound. “You want to go back to work…with our car…and you want us to hurry?”

 

“No, well…” I said with a little smile myself; “It’s just, you know, what the hell is going to happen to me?”

 

She looked past me and nodded, “I think you’re gonna find out right now,” she said.

 

“How you doin’ Frankie Fingers?” Robbie asked sitting down next to me and pulling his stool over until our knees were touching. He didn’t give me a chance to answer, “How did you get that nickname in high school anyway?” he asked winking at Donna.

 

He was just screwing with me, everyone knew how I got that name; “Well I wish I could say it was because I was such a good shop lifter,” I replied trying to smile at both of them, God knows why I thought it was time to be coy.

 

He laughed and whacked my thigh; “Man, Frankie Fingers! You were a… legend at Orson High, all us guys in the lower grades man, we used to jerk off thinking about you jerking us of!” and he had a good laugh at that. “Lots of guys said you had worked your magic on them; I know a lot of them were lying, but some of it must have been true, I mean, I heard you did a lot of guys.”

 

“Oh no, not… that many,” I replied. I was actually blushing, maybe it was the booze, “Orson wasn’t… that big of a high school, after all,” I said with a nervous laugh.

 

He shook his head, smiling at old memories; “There was a story goin ‘round that you jerked off Mike Heck soooo hard that he shot all the way up through the sunroof of Tom Scott’s mother’s Jetta,” he said with awe, raising his thumb up over his head like a rope of spunk heading straight up.

 

“That was high school Robbie, you know how kids talk, the things they make up,” I chided.

 

He looked at Donna with a kinda slow wink and then looked back at me and said; “there are several eye witnesses who swear to have seen it in person,” he turned back to Donna, “right after school,… in broad daylight, down in the parking lot of the lower sports field.”

 

“Well maybe that one time,” I conceded, lowering my eyes. Truth is, I was always kinda proud of that, and secretly happy that there had been witnesses; I mean, what the hell else have I accomplished in my life? Still, this didn’t seem to be the right time or place to be bragging about any special sexual skills.

 

“Ha, I knew it,” he gave my shoulder a little shove, “man, that was a shot, man that had to be one great fucking hand job.”

 

“You gotta get the breaks,” I replied modestly, “time of day, wind speed, that kind of thing, and I think Mike had been carrying a load for over a week.”

 

He was smiling and nodding vigorously now, almost rocking back and forth; “Thing is,” he said, “I told the guys about it, and they don’t believe me.”

 

“Well………” I shrugged my shoulders.

 

“They say that if you can get me to shoot up over the top of the windshield of that yellow ragtop, you can have it back,” he replied.

 

“Whoa, wait, that was years ago, I…….”

 

“It’s your call. You don’t want to do it, fine. Donna will drive you back to Orson right now and drop you off.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to do it, Robbie,” I replied, and that was true. It was awful of me, but their disbelief had gotten my competitive juices flowing in a way I hadn’t felt in years. How could they doubt Frankie Fingers; after all it was true. I did do it.

 

“So what do you say Frankie, you still got it in you?” he asked with a taunting grin.

 

“Do I have it? What about you?” I leaned in close to him, “can your tired old dick make a shot like that? Have you even got that much spunk?”

 

“No problem Frankie, I just dropped a couple of Dexies and two Mexican Viagra, and I haven’t had a drink in almost an hour!” he replied.

 

I reached down boldly and felt his package, it was pretty big, but not really hard; “What about length?”

 

“Hey, on this shit, with you at the controls, I swear I’ll be ten fucking inches straight up, that’ll cut the odds a bit.”

 

I was still uncertain, or maybe just unbelieving, I looked at Donna; “Whaddya got to lose? Might save me a trip to Orson, and to tell you the truth, I’m kinda interested to see if it myself,” she said.

 

“Well shit, when you put it that way, I might as well give it a shot,” I declared.

 

“Alright Frankie!!” he shouted and jumped off the bar stool, “that’s the spirit.” He headed for the council room and then looked back over his shoulder at me, “Oh ya, they want you to do it naked, that should make it easier for both of us,” he said.

 

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” I replied and dropped my head like a dead weight. I felt exhausted already. I just let it hang there, my whole stupid noggin pulling down on the muscles of my neck, like I do sometimes when I’ve got an unpleasant job in front of me that I can’t get out of. 

 

My job, as lousy as it was, was on the line, so I took a few deep breaths and then raised my head and stretched out my neck from side to side, ‘Okay Frankie, you can do this,” I said to myself. I opened my eyes and looked at Donna, “Can I borrow your hair elastic thingee?” I asked.

 

EYE OF THE TIGER

I went to the bathroom, and when I came out Donna said, “better let me hang on to your phone for you, this could get messy.” I handed her my phone and then her and Teddy escorted me out the back door. 

 

It was nuts; there must have been thirty to forty guys and five or six chick standing around in a circle out on the torn-up lawn beside that damned yellow ragtop. They were bearded, tattooed, shirtless, topless, and even bottomless, you name it; smoking dope, drinking, doing crack for all I know, and somewhere off to the side the dogs were barking like mad. And here I come walking down the steps in my beat-up costume like some down-and-out Mexican wrestler, with Teddy and Donna on each side of me like my freakin trainers, and no shit, the crowd lets out a roar and starts cheering; “Frankie! Frankie! Frankie!”

From somewhere speakers started blaring “Eye of the Tiger” no shit. And damn it, I’m getting pumped up. I threw out my chest and fucking… strode into the center of the circle.

 

Some idiot was shouting “USA! USA! USA! As Robbie entered the circle. He started to shout something at me and then, wham! 

 

They turned the fucking hose on me, and it wasn’t your basic garden hose, it was like a freaking fire hose. It almost knocked me over; the first few seconds the water was warm at least, but as I was regaining my balance the water turned cold and I was jumping around and shouting “Shhhhiiiiiiiiiiiittttttttt!”

 

I saw that Robbie was taking off his clothes, and I gratefully peeled off that stupid costume. I just stripped down stark naked, fucking bare butt naked in front of fifty hairy assed, cheering strangers. It was that kind of a day, you know.

 

Robbie was dancing around like a fool, so I started to do it to, just letting go, and laughing my fucking ass off. As you probably know, bikers are not the most body beautiful people in the world, not really stuck up or judgmental in that department, so what the hell, my body ain’t what it used to be, but they didn’t give a shit, they were here to see my fingers.

 

Donna tip toed and then kinda slid into the circle in her cowboy boots and handed me a bar of soap. I told you she was a real person; I shouted my thanks and then chased Robbie down.

 

“Jump” was pounding over the speakers, which gives you an idea of the age of this gang. I tackled Robbie to the grass and started giving his private parts, which were soon going to be in my face, a dammed good scrubbing to the cheers of the assembled outlaws. He struggled to his feet and I knelt beside him, keeping him steady with one hand grasping his ass, and scrubbing his semi-hard dick with the other. All modesty was gone out the window now, this was serious business. I wanted that bastard as clean as a baby, so I, Frankie Heck, knelt there naked, and cleaned his cock, balls and ass, right there in front of a wild audience under the merciless blue Indiana sky. 

 

Everybody was bouncing around to “Jump” and I had a hell of a time keeping a grip on him. Every time the chorus came around everybody would shout “Spunk!” instead of “Jump”, you know as in, “I might as well Spunk, Spunk! Go ahead annnnnd Spunk!” and he would thrust his hips out and wave his dick around and I would have to try and catch it. The crowd loved it, and in the back of my mind I was thinking, “that’s it Frankie, get them all on your side, make em laugh and maybe they won’t go through with the whole gangbang thing when this trick fizzles.

 

When the song ended he helped me to my feet and the whole gang moved over and crowded around the car. Someone had thoughtfully put down an old blanket to cover the seats; I got Robbie to sit in the passenger seat so I would have more room to maneuver, that was how I used to do it in the old days. Bucket seats were a challenge, but I had dealt with them before, I’m not that old, and fortunately the ragtop was pretty roomy, thank you American Auto Industry. I got him to push his seat way back; I would start from the side, but I knew for the final dash I was going to have to squeeze down onto the floor. 

 

“How about some lube!?” I shouted as we got ourselves settled.

 

“They didn’t have lube in the fifties,” some smart ass shouted back, and they all laughed.

 

The car was very low so the audience was looking down on us as they crowded around on all sides; “I always carried hand cream in my purse,” I replied, which was true, I used to do it that much.

 

“Probably bought it by the case,” someone shouted.

 

“We ain’t hand cream kinda people,” someone else added to more laughter.

 

“A bottle of water at least,” I pleaded.

 

“This will have to do ya,” someone said and handed me a can of beer.

 

Well that was better than nothing, I popped it and gulped down about a third of it to lubricate my bone-dry mouth, swished it around, put the can in the holder, and then leaned over and dribbled some onto Robbie’s cock. Everybody cheered.

 

All the prancing around and cold water had shriveled him up alarmingly, “Jesus Robbie, come on,” I complained as I started working the warm beer over his shaft.

 

“Help me out a bit Frankie,” he replied moving his butt forward in the seat so that his hips were raised a bit.

 

Well this wasn’t going to be a completely historically accurate-enactment, but then it wasn’t nineteen eighty something either. Perching precariously, with one knee on the console and the other on the side of his seat I lowered my mouth down onto the head of his cock. I hadn’t done this to any other man or boy for a long, long time, and only a few times with Mike if he was slow to get started and something good was coming on TV. But I didn’t think about that, didn’t even cross my mind at the time; I was more aware of my generous, naked ass sticking up behind me in front of god knows how many people and their dammed phone cameras.

 

Supporting myself with one hand on his thigh, I started massaging his hairy balls, took the head of his cock into my mouth and started sucking on it for all I was worth. The effect was immediate; he grew quickly in my mouth, filling it, coming up almost to the ten inches he had boldly promised.

“Hey, I thought this was supposed to be a hand job,” somebody complained.

 

I dribbled out as much saliva and pre cum as I could and lifted my head off of his dick; “Hey, You jerk your way, I’ll jerk mine,” I replied and that got some laughs.

 

Now I was able to sit back a bit on the edge of my seat and lean over and start working his slippery cock with one hand. I have pretty big hands for my size; almost freakishly big, and very long and strong fingers. I put them to work in the tried and true Frankie Fingers manner, squeezing his shaft hard from base to head in a twisting motion, applying focused pressure to the underside all the way to the head, really working over the sensitive edge of his helmet with whole length of my strong thumb. And while that hand was working the shaft, I was steadily “polishing the knob,” with the palm of my other one.

 

I wanted to get it over with; Hey, I’m lazy okay. I had always wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible, but I also liked the feeling of a hard dick in my hand; I had forgotten that, forgotten the wonderful rush of power I got from being in control, of making a guy squirm. So I didn’t rush, if this was going to work then I was going to have to give him time to build up a lot of pressure, and at the same time I had to make sure that he didn’t blast off too soon. Robbie was on my side with this, he wanted to be part of a legendary act too.

 

The crowd was pressing close around the car, a couple of the chicks had actually gotten up on the hood and were peering down over the windshield, that was a bit distracting so I kept my eyes on Robbie’s face, and his cock. He had his head thrown back a bit, a silly grin on his face and was watching me with half closed eyes.

 

“You gonna be my big stud today Robbie,” I asked in my special sexy voice.

 

“Oh ya Frankie, you bet.”

 

“You like me stroking your big, hard cock?”

 

“You know I do baby.”

 

“Are you going to shoot a big, hot load for Frankie Fingers?” I asked keeping up a slow steady stroking on his cock, keeping it in rhythm with my words.

“All the way Frankie; all the fucking way to the fucking moon,” he replied.

 

FRANKIE FINGERS

“That’s it Robbie, God I love the feel of your hard cock, it’s so freakin big,” I said. 

 

Now I never talk that way, ever, not now, not even when I was in high school, but Frankie Fingers did. I only ever saw any porno movies once. Some girlfriends of mine got hold of her brother’s VHS tapes, bad copies of copies. The picture was so degraded that it made everything look totally gross, but the sound was pretty clear, and the things that those porn sluts said stuck in my head. Of course we laughed about it, I mean really, nobody would fall for that phony stuff, right? 

 

But deep down I wasn’t so sure, and once I embarked on my hand job career I started throwing out a line or two and was amazed by the results. It cut my time in half, and I’m all about that! It didn’t have to be original, a few special phrases were all I had to remember, and if you used their names and timed it right they blew their stack every time. After a while, the voice, the language, even the hand job and the little bit of licking, wasn’t me at all, it was all Frankie Fingers; when I needed her she appeared and got the job done. I hadn’t seen her for a long time; that stuff had stopped working on Mike by the time we were married, but she was back now, coming through for me in my hour of need.

 

I was short enough to lay across the console, with the stick shift pressing uncomfortably, or at least distractingly against my pussy, put my head on his knee for balance, and get to work with both hands. Once you get rolling, you pretty much have to keep one hand on the balls at all times if you’re gonna get any results, and I kept one there, squeezing, massaging and occasionally getting my hard thumb up into the sweet spot between the balls and the asshole. I had learned that you had to be pretty rough, so at that point I went to my secret weapon. I took Donna’s elastic out of my hair and wrapped it around the base of the two middle fingers of my right hand; it gave me a hard surface to increase my stimulation powers, something I had learned by accident years ago after I discovered that guys tended to get less sensitive the longer you worked on them and needed a little extra something that would have been too rough at the beginning.

 

I kept everything as wet as I could, even resorting to getting him to spit in my hand a couple of times. I kept changing it up, long twisting strokes, polishing the knob, then going to really fast with half strokes more or less just over the head, and squeezing hard and tossing out gems like “Oh Robbie, you’re making me so wet, oh I just want to suck you right off!” 

 

His cock looked okay for a guy like him, no sores or anything like that, and I had cleaned it up good, and like all the guys our age he was circumcised, which was good, because I think it looks better and it’s what I’m used to. So I used my mouth a lot more than I ever did before, getting in the odd lick up the shaft, and sucking on the head a bit, but not enough to draw any more fouls from the crowd.

 

We were well on our way now so clambered over top of him and squeezed down onto the floor at his feet. He spread his legs wide to help me out with the right one sticking a little way put the window. This pushed his ass right to the very edge of the seat and tilted it up a little, putting everything I needed to work with; his cock, balls, sweet spot and asshole, right where I needed them. Taking the last gulps from the beer can I dribbled more onto his cock, enough so that it ran down through his sparse pubs and into his asshole, I used some to keep my mouth wet, and poured the rest over my tits. 

 

Pressing my pliable boobs together I wrapped them around his cock and used them for a while, I did it because I knew guys liked it and it gave me a chance to rest my hands and fingers before then final push. I was feeling okay and he was responding well, his balls were tight and heavy with a pretty good load, his helmet head had gone a bit purple which was also a good sign too.

 

Now I slipped the elastic off of my fingers and worked it down the length of his hard shaft, right to the bottom and then I drew the bottom down under his balls; it was a tight fit.

 

“Oh ya Frankie,” he moaned and there were cheers and clapping from the audience that I had practically forgotten.

 

“You gonna give me that big load you have in there?” I purred and squeezed his balls.

 

“It’s comin baby,” he replied.

 

“Not yet, not just yet.”

 

“I know it,” he replied.

 

With an eye to the target which was now over top of my head, I had him pull up his seat as far forward as it would go without crushing me.

 

“You’re gonna have to aim it,” I called up to him, “That’s on you.”

 

“Roger that Frankie,” he replied.

 

I pressed my tits against his balls and started going at his shaft two handed now, the bottom hand tight around the base and my right hand squeezing the hell out of his head and dragging each strong finger hard over the edge of the helmet getting him on the upstroke and the down. I started doing this faster, and then got my other hand doing short twisting strokes at the base. Try it some time, it ain’t that easy. Not just anybody can be Frankie Fingers.

 

When that thought came into my mind I suddenly felt horny, aroused like I hadn’t been in years. My pussy was suddenly pulsing and starting to drip, and I unconsciously started to bounce a little and kinda grind against the heel of my foot that was tucked under me.

 

Okay, I lost control a little, and for a while there I was pretty much just sucking his cock. I mean, I got my mouth all the way over the head, bobbed up and down on it, sucking with all my might while I stroked his shaft with one hand, worked past his sweet spot and started fingering his asshole with the other. He was moaning and groaning, the crowd was shouting, I was gulping and slurping, and down below… I was building towards a very naughty and unanticipated orgasm myself.

 

I could feel him rumbling and I got a hold of myself; “Ready to go for it?” I panted.

 

“Yes, yes, let’s do it,” he replied through gritted teeth.

 

“Make sure you call it!” I warned and then dropped all the way down his shaft and got my face right into his balls so I could lick his sweet spot. My right hand, fingers rippling one after another over his dick head worked the top while my left hand worked his hole. 

 

Quickly I got one finger in up to the knuckle in his ass hole, and then the second. I started to stroke and probe and faintly heard the cry, “Now Frankie, now!”

 

I whipped my right hand down, inserted a finger through the elastic and pulled it away from the pipe, then watched as the juice pumped through. He was steering his shaft now, I kept licking his sweet spot until his ridged body sagged back into the seat. Tucked down under his balls, I was sheltered from the blast, so to speak, and had no idea what had happened, except that with all the concentration, I had lost my own orgasm. I reached down, grabbed the seat catch and gave it a shove backwards and then unwound my stiff body. “Did we make it?” I asked.

 

He was lying back with his eyes closed, his semi-hard dick resting against his belly; “I think so,” he said.

 

There was a general subdued hubbub around the car; I turned around to see the chicks carefully examining something on the very top of the windshield. I pulled myself up, gripped the top of the windshield and leaned over to join them, my naked, sweaty ass stuck out, sweat dripping off my hard nipples, my red face covered in juices. Nobody noticed, all eyes were on the faint smudge on the windshield.

 

“We did it!” I shouted with glee.

 

“That’s not his cum, it’s bird shit,” someone shouted from the crowd.

 

“Well is it?” they demanded.

 

The two chicks each took some of the small sample on their fingertips and tested it with their tongues. After a second of reflection they both started nodding; “Oh ya, that’s definitely cum,” one of them announced loudly.

 

Given that indisputable expert testimony the crowd burst into wild cheers, and I sank down and straddled one of Robbie’s thighs with a big grin of pride and relief on my face.

 

The celebrations probably would have lasted for the rest of the day and through the night, except they had to get on the road, which was really for the best. I was lifted out of the car and thrown on some guys broad shoulders. With my pussy rubbing up against his flowing locks, he carried me through the crowd, where I received many congratulatory whacks on my exposed ass. 

 

They were all chanting “Frankie! Frankie! Frankie!” So what the hell, I raised my fists high above my head and shook them like a prize fighter, just letting my big boobs bounce and sway. I mean, what are you gonna do? After all, I may have become boring and lazy, but I wasn’t a prude. Hell, I was barely a respectable citizen at the best of times. It was bizarre, but life can be like that sometimes, well at least mine can anyway.

 

They set me back down by the hose and let me wash myself off, and after a few more cheers, and a few more hugs and slaps on my bare butt, they all scrambled off to their chores. Robbie had said that they were on their way to Arizona and didn’t know if they would be coming back this way again.

 

By the time I got out of the bathroom and had squirmed back into my damp costume they were all ready to go. I went out to the car and removed the blankets and then stood and watched them stream by. They all cheered and waved and shouted my name, and I waved back. I saw the woman who had carjacked me riding behind Teddy; she waved and called out, “Sorry Frankie!”

 

I gave her a dismissive wave; “I hope your kids get out of jail soon,” I called back like a good sport.

 

As the last of them were filing by Robbie pulled up, got off his bike and gave me a hug. “That was FUCK….ING… EPIC, Frankie,” he said emphatically, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a grown man so happy.

 

“A real trip down memory lane,” I replied dryly, but it was kinda true.

 

“Man, bikers are gonna be talking about the legend of Frankie Fingers for years.”

 

“Great. Those pictures aren’t going on the internet are they?”

 

“No way Frankie, they’re personal,” he replied.

 

“Ya, I kinda hoped so.”

 

He squeezed me again and then got back on his hog; “Anytime you need it Frankie, you got a home with the Nomad Outlaws,” he said.

 

“I’ll keep that in my back pocket,” I shouted back waving. These days who knows, I thought. He waved and roared away, the last one out of the yard. I should’ve been mad, I was thinking about being mad, then I looked down at my watch; “Damn!” I shouted, I had just had enough time to drop off the car at Elhert’s and go pick up Brik from school.

 

At the beginning of the long, tree-lined road out to the highway, just as you left the yard, the ground had been torn up by all the vehicles and I had to slow down. I glanced over at the side of the road where a broken down stake truck was settling into the earth. On its broad, white side panel someone had spray painted a huge upward thrusting cock spewing cum, and beside it had written; “Frankie Fingers was here.”

 

I had to laugh, I guess that was the only kind of monument anyone was ever going to raise to me. I felt pretty good, and considering the way the day had started out, I wasn’t too bad off. I had the car back, and I was alive and free. The main thing was that I had seen the last of Rockin Robbie and the Nomad Outlaws, or at least that’s what I thought…….

 

See how I did that, I ended it, but you don’t really know if something more is going to happen. 

 

Alright maybe it’s not a new idea. I’m going to stop typing now.


End file.
